Renee McTavishhttps://reneemctavish.ca
Selected short storiesTue, 07 Feb 2017 01:13:39 +0000en-UShourly15 Things To Consider Before Murdering Someonehttps://reneemctavish.ca/2015/08/18/5-things-to-consider/
https://reneemctavish.ca/2015/08/18/5-things-to-consider/#respondTue, 18 Aug 2015 18:14:35 +0000http://sparkjoy.org/renee-mctavish/?p=658I should be working on editing my application to the SFU Writer’s Studio right now, instead I opted to spend an inordinate amount of time crafting a response to my friend Sharon’s Facebook post – and more time still re-working it for my blog. Where better to show off how-to lists about murder than on […]

]]>I should be working on editing my application to the SFU Writer’s Studio right now, instead I opted to spend an inordinate amount of time crafting a response to my friend Sharon’s Facebook post – and more time still re-working it for my blog. Where better to show off how-to lists about murder than on a public blog?

My friend Sharon posted a link to an article entitled, 5 Ways To Stay Positive When Negative People Drain Your Energy on Facebook. Her accompanying comment was, “For those of you who aren’t ready to ask me to go buy the tarp and shovels yet.” Sharon is clearly a bad influence on me (or a positive one regarding murderous impulses), it’s one of the reasons I like her.

Usually I find these lists silly and full of clichéd advice, but this one gave me an idea for my own – rather than try to bliss myself out of wanting to throttle the negative twerps in my life, why not just dispose of them altogether? I meditated (no I didn’t) on the idea while listening to this:

And then I came up with the following:

1. The perfect murder is possible

Committing the perfect murder is no easy feat, but it is possible. We all know of murders that have never been solved, killers that were never caught, bodies that were never found, and cases with zero solid evidence; these are the ones you’ll want to study and emulate. The Internet is a treasure trove of murder know-how – put that Incognito Mode to good use!

2. Do your homework

Most people are creatures of habit. There are multiple times in a given day where it would be easy and even convenient to knock off your target. Be patient, study your target, take careful mental notes of their routines and habits. If you do, I promise you this: the perfect moment will present itself.

3. Tools of the trade

You can’t just bop someone over the head with the base of an unusual and distinctive lamp; you need to have the right tools. Keep the tools simple and common – something widely available at popular chain stores (Dollarama, Home Depot, etc.). Bring extra plastic sheeting, shovels, lime, and cleaning supplies – you always need more than you think you will. If you weren’t (or aren’t) a Boy Scout, keep their excellent motto in mind: Be Prepared!

4. Have a plan B

No matter how well you plan, something could go awry. Your target might switch jobs, coffee shops, gain/lose a significant other, or experience some other unexpected change that breaks their usual routine. It’s especially important to be adaptable to change, and to be able and ready to adjust your plan accordingly. A delay in your timeline is better than a botched murder!

5. Have a believable alibi

How well do you know your own life? What are your routines and daily habits? While it might sound incredibly cool, is it really plausible that you were in a nightclub in Berlin at the time of the murder? Probably not. Stick with something that could be true, something that is entirely usual and normal for you. Perhaps you were at home watching Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince for the forty-seventh time, or having a nap. Keep it simple and well within the realm of possibility.

And there you have it, a useful and practical list of suggestions that could help improve the quality of your life when dealing with other people. I feel more positive already!

]]>https://reneemctavish.ca/2015/08/18/5-things-to-consider/feed/0children of air india – thoughtshttps://reneemctavish.ca/2015/07/14/children-of-air-india-thoughts/
https://reneemctavish.ca/2015/07/14/children-of-air-india-thoughts/#respondTue, 14 Jul 2015 23:10:54 +0000http://sparkjoy.org/renee-mctavish/?p=624Title: children of air india Author: Renée Sarojini Saklikar Publisher: Nightwood Editions, 2013 Pages: 125 ISBN: 978-0-88971-287-4 Price: $13.68 (CDN) This is not a book review because I am faced, for the first time, with something that cannot be reviewed in the usual way. Typically, I would read a book and then write a review to discuss what I liked […]

This is not a book review because I am faced, for the first time, with something that cannot be reviewed in the usual way.

Typically, I would read a book and then write a review to discuss what I liked or disliked about it: was the story was good and engaging, the characters relatable, the world immersive and detailed… Even with poetry, I can usually say if I liked a given poem or not, or whether or not it spoke to me in some way. children of air india did more than merely speak to me, it drove the raw edges of grief, anger, sorrow and unspeakable loss right through the heart of me.

Air India Flight 182 was destroyed by a bomb at 31,000 feet off the southern coast of Ireland on June 23, 1985. It was the deadliest terrorist attack Canada has ever known – 329 people, a large number of them children under 13, were killed. 268 of the dead were fellow Canadians.

At the time of the bombing, I was 9 years old and utterly ignorant of the event that had just taken place. I was probably wandering around my neighbourhood feeling pleased to have the whole of the summer laid before me with no end in sight. Air India Flight 182 wasn’t on my mind that day, or in the days that followed as I did not follow the news – and my parents probably did little more than watch the reports on TV.

I learned of the bombing later, as a teenager, and even then – I failed to understand the significance; I failed to connect those lives with my own.

Renée Saklikar’s book of poems, along with other reading, has been the beginning of connection, knowledge and some understanding.

For me, the poems seem like fragments from which small pieces of picture emerge: the morning’s activities before the flight, the thoughts of both passengers and their families as they got ready to leave for the airport and all the small moments that string together to make a life: the goodbyes, the squabbles, the worry of being late. Among these moments are the clinical words that describe death: the vocabulary of coroners and lawyers and investigators; the language and words that piece together what happened, even as they cut apart the soft unprotected parts of those left behind to hear them.

Toward the end of the book, the poems explore the feelings of being left behind: the reporters, the questions and the futures that will go unlived.

This is where attempting to review this works falls apart for me. I cannot say, “good” or “bad” – I only know that I have been sitting at my desk for a long time with an uncomfortable lump in my throat that I can barely swallow around, eyes tearing up, and the feeling I have is one of having too many feelings to describe any of them properly.

What I can say, with absolute certainty, is that if you don’t know very much about Air India Flight 182, go read about it. Listen to the words of those left behind. Visit one of the memorials – if you’re in Vancouver, visit the memorial in Stanley Park – and read the names carved there in stone; they deserve to be remembered, to have someone speak their names aloud and not forget them. Read Ms. Saklikar’s book and let her words paint pictures for you of the lives taken so violently and needlessly.

When you are done, sit with the feelings awhile, and find the small moments in your own life that you can take grateful joy in.

]]>https://reneemctavish.ca/2015/07/14/children-of-air-india-thoughts/feed/0Writer vs. Author – semantic nonsense or important distinction?https://reneemctavish.ca/2015/07/11/writer-vs-author/
https://reneemctavish.ca/2015/07/11/writer-vs-author/#respondSat, 11 Jul 2015 03:05:00 +0000http://sparkjoy.org/renee-mctavish/?p=635Last night I was chatting with members of my writing group over Skype when one of the members said, “Actually, I am a writer; I just want to be an author.” I asked him for clarification and he said, “One has published, the other just has books.” I’ve always been annoyed by this distinction between […]

]]>Last night I was chatting with members of my writing group over Skype when one of the members said, “Actually, I am a writer; I just want to be an author.” I asked him for clarification and he said, “One has published, the other just has books.”

I’ve always been annoyed by this distinction between “writer” and “author”, but I did some research – and there are an astonishing number of people who agree with this distinction; who feel that writers are people who haven’t been published and they are therefore not authors. There are others who feel that “author” is a past-tense only way of referring to completed work and that if you’re calling yourself a writer, it’s because you’re currently working on a project, and not dealing with work that’s already done.

I also looked up the definitions in my copy of the OED: “authorn. & v.1 a writer, esp. of books.” and “writern.1 a person who writes or has written something. 2 a person who writes books; an author.” So, basically, writers and authors are the same thing, and I believe that this is true.

When used as interchangeable definitions, I have no issues with people saying they’re an author, and often that sounds better when talking about a writer’s works. For example, “Stephen King, the author of dozens of novels…” sounds more natural than, “Stephen King, the writer of dozens of novels…”

For me, the problem comes in when ego (or lack of confidence) gets tossed in the debate of “author” vs. “writer”. Obviously, I haven’t met every published writer ever, so I don’t believe what I’m about to say applies to everyone who calls themselves an author, but in my experience, people distinguishing themselves specifically as authors (and not as writers) do so because a) they want to distance themselves from the hoi polloi who are merely dirty little scribblers without fashion/publishers while they are Published Authors (you can hear them capitalise the title when they speak) who play with the big boys and by god you had better appreciate that fact, or b) they are terribly insecure about their writing – and their desire to write – possibly due to lack of support or even open derision about writing being a silly artsy-fartsy hobby for people who want to avoid having to grow up and get real jobs.

If publication is the only barrier to being able to call yourself an author, then that barrier was torn down as soon as the self-publishing industry opened its doors. To say that an unpublished writer is also not an author simply because they aren’t available on Kindle or in paperback format is just a lot of dismissive snobbery. I’ve read some excruciatingly bad pieces of writing – some of them novel length – that are available for actual money on Amazon, and I’ve read some pretty great stuff that remains unpublished (despite my best efforts to convince the writer their work is really good) and both are authors.

This probably all sounds like the sour grapes and pedantic moaning of someone who isn’t published herself, and fair enough I guess. I haven’t published anything yet (unless this site counts); I don’t have an agent, I don’t work with a publisher, and I haven’t submitted anything though a self-publishing platform, either. I am going to try my hand at both in the near future – perhaps a short story collection that people can download onto their e-readers for a buck, and I’ll see what sort of feedback I get. Hell, I’ll probably put the first few things out for free just for the feedback. No one with any sense becomes a writer for the money or fame anyway, right?

I guess I see the writer vs. author debate like this: there’s enough snooty one-upmanship bullshit in the publishing/reading world as it is; snotty slappy-fights between different genres (“Science Fiction is so much better than Romance – Romance novels are for the brain-dead.”), different eras (“Modern Poetry is all a bunch of self-serving wank, the only poets worth reading have been dead for a hundred years or more.”), different publishing platforms (“E-books are for amateurs – you know you’re in the Big Leagues when you have a hardcover copy in the front window of Chapters.”), etc… why add to it with all this writers vs. authors garbage?

Focus less on the title, and more on the writing. Write your little heart out and share the worlds you create with the rest of us when you’re done (if you want to). How you share it – that’s up to you. If you get into the traditional publishing world – great! If you publish an e-book, great! And if you want to keep that finished novel or whatever for yourself and never share it, that’s OK too – you’re still a writer (or author if you prefer) – it still counts.

For those curious about self-publishing, here are a few places to get started with:

]]>https://reneemctavish.ca/2015/07/11/writer-vs-author/feed/0A Monster Calls – a book reviewhttps://reneemctavish.ca/2015/05/27/a-monster-calls-a-book-review/
https://reneemctavish.ca/2015/05/27/a-monster-calls-a-book-review/#respondWed, 27 May 2015 15:57:22 +0000http://sparkjoy.org/renee-mctavish/?p=600Title: A Monster Calls Author: Patrick Ness Publisher: Candlewick Press, 2011 Pages: 105 ISBN: 978-0-7636-6065-9 Price: $10.00 (CDN) I was hooked on this excellent book from the opening line: “The monster showed up just after midnight. As they do.” For me, that’s an opening line right up there with, “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.”, and […]

I was hooked on this excellent book from the opening line: “The monster showed up just after midnight. As they do.”

For me, that’s an opening line right up there with, “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.”, and given how many times I’ve read that particular book…

Ness’s story focuses on Conor, a 13 year old boy whose mother is going through medical treatments for an unspecified illness – I thought “cancer” as I read – and about Conor’s recurring nightmares since the treatments began. On this particular night, at 12:07 am, Conor meets the monster for the first time when it comes to his bedroom window: it is “something wild, something ancient” in the form of the yew tree that normally sits in the centre of the graveyard on a hill near Conor’s house.

The tree monster tells him in no uncertain terms: “I have come to get you, Conor O’Malley.”

Conor’s story is accompanied by beautiful illustrations by Jim Kay, and our first look at the monster shows a wild and almost primitive looking monster; the kind that isn’t borne out of watching too many silly slasher and zombie films, but the kind that comes from your very deepest and most primitive fears. Looking at the drawings, I thought, “Somewhere, in the history of the human species, there were people living in caves who were probably drawing pictures of the exact same monster.” This monster is older than time and more wild – and when it goes walking in the world, it goes in search of truth. And not just the easy truths; the difficult ones that make you squirm uncomfortably, the ones that make you feel sick to your stomach with holding them in; the ones that can set you free if you’re brave enough to give them a voice.

I don’t want to spoil the plot entirely, but I think it’s safe to reveal that the monster wreaks all the havoc you expect of monsters, while also moving Conor toward facing his nightmare and revealing his truth both to the monster and himself. To this end, the monster tells Conor three tales, and Conor is expected to provide the fourth tale – the deep truth of his nightmare and his feelings about it.

I was particularly struck by something the monster tells Conor:

Your mind will believe comforting lies while also knowing the painful truth that make those lies necessary. And your mind will punish you for believing both.

This is something that hit home for me personally. I have lied to myself times without number about so many things: relationships, career choices, my own wants and needs…you name it, I’ve probably lied to myself about it at some point with varying degrees of success. And what the monster says is true, your mind does punish you for believing both – punishes you with misery, anger, longing, resentment, jealousy, bad habits, self-destructive behaviour…all negative things that could have been avoided by choosing truth. But, our ability to lie to ourselves is unparalleled and we seem to need to do it – even though it offers none of the comfort it so implicitly promises.

My own experience is that admitting those uncomfortable truths has never resulted in anything truly awful happening – even though I was sure it would involve my whole world falling apart. More often than not, things have become simpler and easier by admitting the truth. Looking back, I can see that the longer I waited to tell the truth (to myself or others), the more I made a mess of things and hurt myself and others. Yet, I still have to come to this knowledge the hard way over and over again.

When my friend first loaned me this book, I thought it might be just a really good kid’s tale, I wasn’t expecting it to reveal anything that would make me think quite so much; but A Monster Calls is a tale for everyone, no matter their age. The monster tells Conor he isn’t there to teach him lessons in niceness, or other fairy tale moralities, and upon reflection, I agree – I didn’t learn a moral lesson at all, I learned Conor’s truth, and I remembered that admitting my own has actually done me a lot of good in ways the not-so-comforting-after-all lies never did, or could.

]]>https://reneemctavish.ca/2015/05/27/a-monster-calls-a-book-review/feed/0FHRITP – a vulgar and dangerous trendhttps://reneemctavish.ca/2015/05/16/fhritp-vulgar-and-dangerous/
https://reneemctavish.ca/2015/05/16/fhritp-vulgar-and-dangerous/#commentsSat, 16 May 2015 17:59:10 +0000http://sparkjoy.org/renee-mctavish/?p=583Trigger Warning: In addition to vulgar language, there are also references in this post that might be triggering for survivors of sexual assault. Nothing is spelled out explicitly, but there are some descriptions of feelings and thoughts that might be difficult for some. Proceed with caution. The whole “Fuck her right in the pussy” debacle […]

]]>Trigger Warning: In addition to vulgar language, there are also references in this post that might be triggering for survivors of sexual assault. Nothing is spelled out explicitly, but there are some descriptions of feelings and thoughts that might be difficult for some. Proceed with caution.

The whole “Fuck her right in the pussy” debacle started as a stupid hoax set up by John Cain pretending to be a reporter who doesn’t realise he’s on live television while talking about a missing 20 year old woman. In the video he talks about how he’d “fuck her right in the pussy” – complete with a vulgar pelvic thrust – the camera then cuts back to the network host who apologises and moves on to the next story. Idiots everywhere decided this was the funniest thing ever and began harassing reporters with the vile phrase.

The most recent case involved CityNews reporter, Shauna Hunt, while she interviewed soccer fans after a Toronto FC game. Ms. Hunt was brave enough to confront the men on camera; they continued their disrespectful behaviour by saying that the phrase was “fucking hilarious” and that Ms. Hunt was “lucky there [wasn’t] a fucking vibrator in [her] ear” (a reference to another FHRITP prank in the UK).

One of the men from the Shauna Hunt video, Shawn Simoes, has been fired from his job, a decision that has provoked a lot of responses on social media. There are the usual “freedom of speech” arguments (and to those people, I invite you to read this comic), and “This is all PC nonsense – it’s just a joke.”, and false equivalency arguments like, “So, if my boss loves Stephen Harper and I don’t – and I say so publicly – does that mean I can be fired too?”

None of these arguments hold water for me. These are the arguments people make because they:

Have no understanding of what free speech actually means

Are incapable of sound arguments based on logic and reason

Are guilty of the same behaviour – or encouraging others in that behaviour – and would rather defend it than admit they were wrong

Are incapable of empathy toward others

But the responses that troubled me the most were the ones that simply read, “I don’t see what the big deal is.” I’d like to explain why I think this is a big deal; why this whole ill conceived FHRITP prank is, not only stupid and vulgar, but actually dangerous.

When I was 15 or so, I went on my first ever date with a boy from my art class. I don’t recall what we did – probably went to see a movie or something – but I do remember how nervous and excited I was to go out.

I remember waiting for him to pull in the drive to pick me up, and how I hoped I looked OK, and that I wouldn’t say anything too dorky or stupid. My big hope for the evening was for both of us to have fun. I tried not to think too hard about the end of the evening (kiss? no kiss? hug? handshake?). At this point in my life, I was still a few years away from my first sexual experience and I wasn’t even contemplating sex as a possibility for this date. Maybe some hand-holding, but not much else.

So, off we went, and after our date, as we walked to his car, another car came along; it slowed down as it approached us, and a guy about our age, leaned out the passenger window and yelled, “Fuck her, buddy, I did!”. Other people in the street turned and looked at us – at me – to see who it was this vulgar little shit had supposedly fucked.

I could have happily dropped dead on the spot.

He’d barely finished yelling the words before I got walloped with just about every negative emotion and thought a person can feel or have in a single moment: humiliation, embarrassment, degradation, shame, fear that my date would think it was true; that I was easy and a slut, anger that the night had been spoiled by his ugly words… it was overwhelming to say the least.

I had gone from being Art Boy’s date, to a thing that could be – and apparently had been – fucked and discarded.

The young guys in the car sped off, laughing and hanging out the window to see how I was taking it. I just stood there trying not to cry in front of my date. He asked if I was OK and then drove me home because I was obviously not OK. There was no kiss at the door; all I could think about was what they had yelled at me: “Fuck her, buddy, I did!”.

I wonder if those guys remember that night as well as I do. Probably not – they’re probably decent and contributing members of society now (though I wonder how decent a person really is if they find that kind of shitty behaviour funny). Maybe they are married and have daughters of their own. I wonder if they’ve had to comfort that daughter who’s maybe just discovered that a single moment can leave you feeling small, scared and vulnerable; that there are words and people who, in the time it takes your heart to beat, can make you feel cheap, dirty and worthless.

And of all the dozen or so people who turned to look at me that night, not a single one of them said anything to me. Their silence, the slightly embarrassed shrug of shoulders, or the sudden interest in their feet, their car keys, their purses – and the silly, surprised smiles on a few faces – seemed to say, “Boys – what can you do?”. The message was clear: Shrug it off. Don’t make a fuss.

Well, I’m making a fuss now.

I didn’t deserve to feel scared, small, vulnerable, dirty, cheap, worthless, humiliated, embarrassed, degraded, or ashamed. And if anyone reading this is thinking of making a joke that can produce all these feelings in a person, believe me when I tell you that the person you say it to will carry the memory with them always – and that they will always feel bad about it. Far better to keep your mouth shut.

The actual words of this meme require discussion as well:

The word “fuck”, applied in a sexual context, can have some pretty violent connotations. When these assholes say, “fuck her” – it implies violence, lack of consent, bodily harm, and the use of force against another. It brings up fear of being violated, of being used like an object for someone else’s pleasure so they can indulge a sense of control and power over a person and their body. To me, it seems like an encouraging invitation to rape – at the very least, it makes light of rape and even of sex.

And the words “in the pussy” – these words strip a person of all the things they are, all the things that make them them and zeroes in on a single body part: “the pussy”; with the implication that that’s all you are, all that’s useful about you, all that’s interesting – the pussy. The rest of you is just the bunch of rubbish the pussy is attached to. It turns a person into a mere thing in the crudest possible terms.

Just a pussy. Just something to fuck.

This is what people are defending as “free speech”. This is what we’re supposed to “lighten up” about.

I worry about how many people who feel OK about yelling things like, “fuck her right in the pussy” will graduate from saying shitty things, to doing even shittier things based on the implied encouragement and consent of other people’s silence. I worry that people who find things like FHRITP “fucking hilarious” see other people as just ‘other’ – that the people around them aren’t people; they are things to be used to further their own goals. That goal might be a cheap laugh, or getting laid, or feeling powerful and in control – whatever the goal, they stop caring that other people are being hurt so they can get what they want.

Laughing at “FHRITP”; yelling it at people, and being supportive of those who laugh at it and say it, is another step toward normalizing rape culture. This kind of crude humour and implied violence makes committing violent acts more acceptable which takes away from the seriousness of sexual assault; it makes it harder for victims of assault to come forward because they are scared they’ll be laughed at and not taken seriously. It makes it easier for rapists and their ilk to continue hurting people because they know their victims won’t report anything, and even if they did – well, hey, “fuck her right in the pussy.” – right?

That’s a scary world to live in.

It’s not OK to yell things like “fuck her right in the pussy” at anyone. Ever.

It’s not OK to say or do nothing when you see or hear other people doing it.

It’s not OK to look away from someone else’s humiliation and fear and laugh about it or shrug it off as “just one of those things”.

By saying and doing nothing, by laughing at the “joke”, the implication is that you’re comfortable with someone being humiliated or frightened – your silence is a pact with the people perpetrating the offence. You’re essentially saying, “I agree with what you’re doing.” You are helping them feel OK about hurting other people and making them feel small, shitty, and worthless.

If this is not who you are, if you can see why this is wrong, then speak up and say so. This is no time to be squeamish or cowardly – actual people are genuinely hurt by this “joke” – if you can do something about it, then I think you have an obligation to do it if you want to be considered a useful and valuable member of the human race.

]]>https://reneemctavish.ca/2015/05/16/fhritp-vulgar-and-dangerous/feed/1The Room – a book reviewhttps://reneemctavish.ca/2015/05/12/the-room-a-book-review/
https://reneemctavish.ca/2015/05/12/the-room-a-book-review/#commentsTue, 12 May 2015 15:56:55 +0000http://sparkjoy.org/renee-mctavish/?p=568The Room is the absurd, slightly sad and intriguing tale of Björn, who finds a strange room in the office where he works.

The Room is the absurd, slightly sad and intriguing tale of Björn, who finds a strange room in the office where he works.

From the start, I suspected that Björn would be the sort of insufferable jerk that we’ve all had the misfortune to work with at some point or another. Björn was transferred from his previous work place for reasons never made entirely clear:

It wasn’t my decision to move on. I was fairly happy at my last job and felt comfortable with the routines, but somehow I outgrew the position and ended up feeling that I was doing a job that was way below my abilities, and I have to admit that I didn’t always see eye to eye with my colleagues.

It became clear very quickly that Björn was going to be a very unreliable narrator – after all, if he were really “happy” and “comfortable” in his job, it seems absurd that he’d suddenly “somehow” feel the work was beneath him. I can only assume that his old boss was all too happy to see him go and become someone else’s problem.

By page 14, Björn cemented my dislike of him with his petty observations about his co-workers:

Slowly but surely I built up profiles of my closest neighbours, their character and place in the hierarchy. Beyond Håkan [Björn’s desk mate] sat Ann. A woman somewhere around fifty. She seemed knowledgeable and ambitious, but also the sort of person who thought she knew everything and liked being proven right…Opposite Ann sat Jörgen. Big and strong, but doubtless not possessed of an intellect to match…

In addition to his nasty little asides about his co-workers, there is the room – a strange puzzle of a place which increasingly becomes the focus of Björn’s working life (in good and bad ways) to the point of a being an obsession for him and his co-workers.

At first, from the descriptions, it seems that the room is real and merely an unused office. But as a reader, I never felt absolutely certain of its existence because Björn had already established himself as a character I couldn’t trust. Later, when it turns out his colleagues can’t see the room at all – and see nothing more than Björn standing in the hallway even when he insists he’s in the room – you feel almost sure that the room isn’t there, but not enough to say so definitively because Björn is always so insistent that it does exist – and his insistence about the room’s existence is the only time his emotions seem trustworthy and genuine.

The whole book puzzled me and made me feel uncomfortable long after I’d finished it – as I’m sure it was intended to do.

A few days after finishing The Room, I realised that I felt uncomfortable about the book not only because of the frustrating problem of the room being real or not, but also because I realised that I could identify more than I liked with Björn’s character. I doubt I’m alone in this: the quick (and probably unfair) judgements when we meet new people; the ego-driven conviction that we’re actually, when you really consider it, quite brilliant; the push-me pull-me desire to be left alone to do our “brilliant” work, but also to be admired for it, which requires interacting with others on more than a superficial level – if you want to be seen as having some humility (and we all want to be seen as brilliant, but humble about it).

It’s an unpleasant feeling to discover that you have anything in common with a person like Björn – even if only sometimes.

I know how stupid it is to think, even for a moment, that any of us have a monopoly on intelligence or any other positive trait. We are all flawed; how much more or less flawed than other people doesn’t matter – there are no prizes to be won either way, so there’s no point in keeping score. Yet, we all do. We’re all measuring our place in the hierarchy of our workplaces, our group of friends, our classmates, and even our families – and it never works in our favour to spend time on this pointless activity, but we keep doing it anyway.

The Room is not a difficult read – in terms of language at least – but it has kept me going back again and again to my own strange room; the one in my head that only I can enter; the place where I can see my own Björn-like thoughts for the silly, but utterly human things they are.

]]>https://reneemctavish.ca/2015/05/12/the-room-a-book-review/feed/1The Ghost and Mrs. Muir – a book reviewhttps://reneemctavish.ca/2014/12/12/ghost-mrs-muir-book-review/
Fri, 12 Dec 2014 00:06:47 +0000http://sparkjoy.org/renee-mctavish/?p=520Title: The Ghost and Mrs. Muir Author: R. A. Dick (Josephine Leslie) Publisher: Vintage Books Pages: 174 ISBN: 978-0-8041-7348-3 Price: $14.95 (USD, Amazon.com) I didn’t discover this gem of a book until after I’d watched the movie on Netflix – I’ve now seen it seven times and counting, it’s a really good movie – and learned from the credits that it […]

I didn’t discover this gem of a book until after I’d watched the movie on Netflix – I’ve now seen it seven times and counting, it’s a really good movie – and learned from the credits that it was based on R. A. Dick’s novel of the same name. I ordered a copy of the movie and the book, and read the book over two days.

The story begins with newly widowed Lucy Muir who, after discharging the debts left behind by her late husband, decides she wants a life of her own – preferably one that is far from her pushy and interfering in laws who insist on treating her as though she were a silly child rather than a grown and widowed woman with two children.

After enquiring at the local house agent’s, Lucy learns of Gull Cottage, a beautiful little house by the sea in Whitecliff that is supposedly haunted by the former owner, Captain Daniel Gregg. Despite attempts at interference from the house agent, Mr. Coombe, who tells Lucy exactly what he thinks would and wouldn’t suit her, she is successful in renting it.

As it turns out, all the rumours about Gull Cottage being haunted are completely true.

Captain Daniel Gregg, a plain spoken sailor who “lived a man’s life” and then died in Gull Cottage unexpectedly, has terrified previous prospective tenants out of their wits – and out of his house – but Lucy is determined to stay and the two come to an agreement as Lucy settles into her new and independent life in Gull Cottage.

I admit that as I read the book, I did picture Rex Harrison (Sexy Rexy!) and Gene Tierney in the title roles, but here, Captain Gregg’s language is even stronger and more appropriate to the way you might think a former sea captain would talk (when he was practising restraint in the company of a lady, anyway), and Lucy seems feistier and her struggles to speak her mind and be heard are more apparent.

I felt sorry for and amused by movie-Lucy – Eva is really an annoying martyr in the film – but book-Lucy was someone I admired from the start. She makes up her mind early in the story that “…if this was a new life, she must begin at once to lead it in the way she meant to go on.”, and so she does. She refuses to be bullied into doing what others feel is right for her, even when standing up for herself is frightening or tiring. With some encouragement from Captain Gregg, she learns to make hard decisions based on what needs to be done, and not half-baked sentiments that she doesn’t really hold to anyway.

Another part of the magic this book holds for me is that Gull Cottage becomes more than just Lucy’s refuge and fresh beginning, I felt it was mine, too, as I read.

When you’re away from the things that interfere with learning about who you are, and what you want, and how you might go about getting those things, living becomes easier. Simpler. You have the luxury of minding your own business without having anyone else’s thrust upon you whether you want it or not. That in itself is a treasure beyond price. I haven’t found that place in my real life, but I can find it in this book, even if just for a little while.

Of course, Captain Gregg completes the happiness to be found at Gull Cottage; for all that he is a spirit, he is as human and full of mischief and mistakes as any mortal man. The conversations and arguments Lucy and Captain Gregg have bring out the best in each other – they push and shape one another and are better for it.

Even if you’ve already enjoyed the film version, if you’re looking for a good story and a great place to escape to, you couldn’t do better than Gull Cottage in Whitecliff.

]]>Birthday monstershttps://reneemctavish.ca/2013/11/12/birthday-monsters/
Tue, 12 Nov 2013 20:01:58 +0000http://sparkjoy.org/renee-mctavish/?p=502When I was a kid, I LOVED having my birthday. I’d go to bed on November 10th absolutely sure that when I woke on November 11th, I’d be obviously older, smarter, wiser, and worthy of more adult privileges like staying up later and not being treated like the kid I no longer was. And even […]

I’d go to bed on November 10th absolutely sure that when I woke on November 11th, I’d be obviously older, smarter, wiser, and worthy of more adult privileges like staying up later and not being treated like the kid I no longer was. And even if none of that happened, there would still be presents and cake to enjoy, so I couldn’t lose even if I did have to be in bed by 8:30 p.m. and keep being bossed around by grown-ups.

Now that I’m 38, I’ve lost a little of that excitement and hope. I have gained a little wisdom, but only by putting myself through difficult things that Little Me would have disdained (“If that boy is mean to you, or makes you feel sad, just don’t be his friend any more. Now let’s colour, OK?”). Still, despite the dumb things that my older self has done (or not done) that have made my life more difficult than necessary, I do still enjoy a nice gift and a slice of cake (though, I no longer expect these things the way I once did).

So, yesterday I met up with my lovely friend Ms. von Bossypants, and she presented me with this awesome, three-eyed little monster from the Monster Lab on Salt Spring Island:

Acme and his new friends (L to R – The Maw, Lurky, Acme, and Totoro)

His name is Acme, and he’s got stringy legs (so he can’t stand without some serious assistance), but he can see pretty well out of all three eyes, so that makes up for it. Plus, he’s a friendly looking little guy and he seems to be getting along pretty well with my Murloc and other critters.

Joe treated me to a great sushi dinner, and then made me some chocolate mint brownies (instead of birthday cake) for dessert. We spent the rest of the evening eating brownies, listening to Jonathan Coulton, and playing video games with the sound off.

OK, maybe I haven’t grown up as much as I thought.

Credit: I took the photo, but all credit goes to the Monster Lab for making photogenic monsters.

]]>Is this thing still on?https://reneemctavish.ca/2013/10/21/thing-still/
Mon, 21 Oct 2013 18:41:39 +0000http://sparkjoy.org/renee-mctavish/?p=484It’s been awhile since my last post (seven weeks and six days, but who’s counting?). What have I been doing in that time? Well, a number of things: I went to Ontario to see my family because it had been two years since my last visit. I had a great time. I saw two plays […]

]]>It’s been awhile since my last post (seven weeks and six days, but who’s counting?). What have I been doing in that time? Well, a number of things:

I went to Ontario to see my family because it had been two years since my last visit. I had a great time. I saw two plays at the Stratford Festival (Merchant of Venice and Othello) with my Dad – and we had amazing seats for both. I also drank a fair bit of home-made wine on the back patio (really good stuff), while tossing a bright orange squeaky ball for my parent’s dog, Dodge. The only bad part was not getting to see my sister as much as I would have liked.

I have been making things with crochet hooks and knitting needles (teddy bears, octopi, dishcloths, and felted wool bags) – and getting requests for these things from people who see them.

I cooked a 20 lb. turkey for Thanksgiving for Joe, and some friends, and it turned out really well.

I discovered that you can only eat so many turkey leftovers for lunch and dinner. I am really very tired of turkey now.

I cleaned up all the half-dead plants on the balcony, dried the herbs that survived my neglect, and scrubbed down the balcony and my now empty plant pots. My balcony looks really bare and strange.

I re-caulked the bathtub because the old caulk was peeling off and it looked nasty. It was actually quite easy to do, and it looks about a thousand times better (Note: pay more for the stuff that makes you tub usable in three hours instead of 12 – it’s worth the extra money).

I have been working with the City of North Vancouver to stop the patrons of a certain restaurant across from our building from screaming/yelling/shouting etc., in the street from 7 p.m. to damn near midnight every night in creation. Things are in the good part of the cycle of noise for now and I’m enjoying the relative quiet while it lasts.

Did I do any writing? A little – most of it was putting down the beginnings of stories and some random ideas on paper. Some of those ideas are refusing to do anything more than take up space on the page, and some of them are shaping up nicely and wanting to become more.

I have a tendency to put my own work on hold when I start new jobs so I can devote myself to getting things working in such a way that they do not require constant vigilance and can be cared for easily and well. However, this approach takes time and effort that leaves little time, and even less brain power, for making things up and writing them down. I think I’ve got the kinks ironed out in terms of what I’m supposed to be doing, what I can take on and do well, and how to keep things from falling down around my ears.

I think.

I hope.

Time to shake off the cobwebs and get back to it.

Credit: I have no idea who this photo belongs to, but will happily take down/give credit if anyone does know.

]]>Shut up and writehttps://reneemctavish.ca/2013/08/27/shut-up-and-write/
Tue, 27 Aug 2013 18:49:53 +0000http://sparkjoy.org/renee-mctavish/?p=458I’ve been debating for awhile now about whether I should use this blog to talk about the book I’m trying to write. I’ve mentioned before that I’m working on one, but I haven’t gone into details about it. Today, I made the decision that I will not be blogging about the book on here until […]

]]>I’ve been debating for awhile now about whether I should use this blog to talk about the book I’m trying to write. I’ve mentioned before that I’m working on one, but I haven’t gone into details about it. Today, I made the decision that I will not be blogging about the book on here until it’s finally done (which right now feels like ‘never’) – instead, I’m going to shut up and write.

I read a great post on the New York Times website by Mark Slouka called Don’t Ask What I’m Writing in which he brings up the dual nature of writing and talking about it with other people: I hate being asked what I’m writing about, or how it’s going, because when I talk about it, it all sounds stupid and improbable; but I also hate not being asked because I want to hear that I’m not just wasting my time writing nonsense.

So far, I’ve erred on the side of, ‘tell me I’m not wasting my time/life’, and gave a mostly done draft of the book to some friends, who all gave me feedback, which I then tried to incorporate into the unfinished book. This was a really terrible idea. The feedback was mostly positive, and most people want me to hurry up and finish so they can find out what happens – but you know, so do I, and trying to incorporate feedback into an unfinished story is making hard to go forward. My poor little ego liked the praise, but actually doing the work is harder now that I am trying to crowd please by taking into account criticism I asked for – much of which is actually pretty spot-on for the chunk of the book that exists. Add in the inner critic (made up of equal parts of bully and helicopter parent)and hardly a new word has been written in months.

What have I done to try and work my way out of the black hole that is the blank page? I talked about the book. Repeatedly. To several people.

Yeah, I’m a genius.

Mr. Slouka points out that we writer types are always making openings to talk about the work. We say things out loud, apropos of nothing, like: “The work went really well today! I think I’ve got that plot problem licked.” And woe to the person who hears this. They will respond, mostly out of politeness, and that’s all the opening we need to talk about the work. And we’ll talk about it ad nauseum, essentially working out our neurosis with a captive audience while scanning them for signs of liking, or not liking, a particular thing – which we’ll then take back to our desks and try to keep in mind while we write the next bit. We’re a needy bunch.

As a friend of mine recently discovered, writing by committee sucks. It sucks a lot. It is a project doomed to being a failed patch-work quilt of words that don’t work, especially if the project is not yet finished or ready for criticism.

So, I am going to try to follow Mr. Slouka’s advice:

1. Trust a few, necessary voices.

2. Try, as much as possible, to avoid torturing these brave souls with your own insecurities.